


Points, Lines, Planes, and Angles

by heroictype (swanreaper)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos and Cecil are Dorks, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil Is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil and Carlos are Good Partners, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 13:37:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17529722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanreaper/pseuds/heroictype
Summary: Carlos categorizes. Things that are not linear: time, emotions, and progress. Components of a relationship: routine, conversation, and motion. The shape of it all takes time to see, but there's a whole picture in there somewhere.





	1. Routine

**Author's Note:**

> So this isn't exactly one... thing? But (as some of you may know from tumblr, oops) I've been listening to the podcast again over the hiatus. 
> 
> The line in episode 31, when Cecil has evidently helped Carlos realize that some things need to come before science, caught my attention. Because now, in retrospect, this is exists in the same universe as It Devours! where Carlos says that Cecil taught him that science is not more important than himself.
> 
> And so this is a few scenes, just moments, that are connected as points along the line from what Cecil says just after they've started dating to what Carlos says now that they're married, mainly from Carlos' perspective. And it exists that way because I had a flash of conversation that was rather heavy (the first section of this) and just... had to follow it up with fluff and character development. It's not meant to be everything, just what I think could be pieces of how things shaped up.
> 
> (So now it's a matter of resisting the urge to write a parallel piece for Cecil. I spent way too long on this as it is.)

Carlos was late. This happened sometimes. It was a well-documented phenomenon.

Even so, he found that his palms were sweating, and his heart was beating as if he faced an unknown quantity. Maybe he would, in just a second. He had already rung the doorbell.

He was late tonight, but that was after rescheduling. He had missed last night entirely, looking up from his completed experiment late at night, finally checking his phone to discover a series of texts from Cecil.

_Carlos? Let me know if you're on the way, okay?_

_I'm heading home, hon._

_Just let me know if you're safe, Carlos._

Carlos had read them several times, and considered. He had responded just, _I'm alright. Sorry about that._

He reviewed the messages now, standing in front of Cecil's apartment, and could derive from them no new information. A form of address in each text, but it switched from name to pet name and back, and in any case, Cecil said his actual name with the same fondness as any term of endearment.

And there was no reply to the last message, from Carlos: _Sorry, I'm on the way right now!_

In short, after taking in all the evidence, Carlos had no idea if Cecil was mad at him. Well. That wasn't true. He could derive that from context, but he couldn't tell _how_ mad Cecil was, or what he would do about these feelings. As the time Carlos spent outside grew longer, he wondered first if something else was wrong with time itself, and next if Cecil was petty enough to make him wait intentionally. Maybe.

The door opened. Carlos immediately and deliberately let his gaze land on Cecil's shirt. The pattern, an abstract representation of a man making duck-lips, made it easy. Carlos avoided absorbing Cecil's expression or reaction to the sight of him, and just said, "Hi, Cecil! Hey, listen, I'm really, really sorry about last night, and um, also for being late tonight! But I still wanted to come. I hope that's alright. "

Then Carlos looked up, into Cecil's face. Bewilderment was the scientific term, Carlos decided, and also it was probably the worst time for him to observe that Cecil was kind of cute when he looked faintly lost, his lips parted, his brow furrowed. 

"Right. I'm glad you made it," Cecil said. "Okay. Um. It's okay. Come in for a minute?"

"Sure."

Cecil led Carlos into his apartment. Not far, but also past the living room, into the kitchen. A space not strictly private, nor specifically designated for company, according to current scientific thinking on social boundaries.

Cecil asked, "Do you want anything to drink?"

"No. No, I'm good."

"Okay." Cecil pressed a hand to his mouth, and dragged it over his chin. He said, "Listen."

It sounded so different from the radio. It was a small word, in a nervous voice, truly a plea rather than an imperative. This made Carlos guilty, or at least, aware of his guilt again. He held back a reflexive apology, so that he could listen.

"Are you… I mean, how do you feel about…" Cecil gestured around the kitchen.

"About - this situation?" Carlos suggested.

Cecil nodded helplessly. He gripped the back of a chair until his knuckles went bloodless.

Carlos answered, "Bad. Not about the overall situation. I feel bad about this, about missing last night and being late tonight, because I like the overall situation. I mean - with you. I just. I like science, too, and I was trying to see if the gray material inside the clocks, you know, that gelatinous substance growing human hair and skin, would continue growing hair and skin even if it was not in a clock anymore. So, I've been running a lot of experiments, like hooking it up to various devices with electrodes and _hmm_ ing at the results, while peering over the top of my glasses at it."

Starting with the word _skin_ , Carlos kept an eye on his watch. He spoke from that point for sixteen full seconds. Probably, then, he had gone on about his experiments for at least thirty. He had not come to talk about science. He also had not come _not_ to talk about science, but they were, in personal terms, trying to have a conversation here. Carlos chewed his lip.

"Oh. That's fascinating," Cecil said, softly, but sincerely. "I'm sorry you had to stop."

"Well, I wanted to keep going. I always want to do science. But I wanted to come here, too, and I had to choose one."

"Right. That is true," Cecil conceded. Cecil said, like it was a concession, "We must all, all of us, make choices. About what we want. But I don't want to pressure you, or, you know, maybe there's a part of me that…"

He folded and unfolded his hands over the top of the chair. "It would be wrong of me to pressure you, and I understand that. So if you're not… feeling it, this overall situation, let me know, alright? That's all. Just let me know."

This was not what Carlos had expected. He had a passing thought of: he didn't know what he had expected. But that wasn't true. He had known, and this wasn't it, which meant that he now had to reply beyond the scope of his expectations. In spite of the lump in his throat, it came easily. Just the truth, as he processed it. "Okay, Cecil. I will let you know if I am ever not feeling it."

He touched Cecil's upper arm, squeezed. Cecil took Carlos' hand, and slid into the chair, finally, without letting go.

"Good. Well. Now that we've established that, I feel like I should tell you... It doesn't seem like you're feeling it? I mean. Oh, god, I'm sorry. I don't want to pressure you. I guess I just wanted to know if there's anything I can do to make it easier? Because, you know... I am also, uh, feeling it. Or, no. Let me be clear about what it is. I like this... this whole, this us."

He waved his free hand between them.

"Do you feel like you've been making it difficult?" Carlos asked, and then answered, "Because I don't."

"I don't know," Cecil admitted. "I'd need you to tell me. Which, I'm sorry, I'm not better at… intuiting? These things. Does that make sense?

"I think 'intuit' is a scientifically accurate word for what you are trying to communicate, yes."

"Okay. I'm sorry I'm not better at intuiting these things. But… it doesn't seem to be easy for you? And I don't know why, so I, well, I was thinking it was probably me."

Cecil's fingers slipped loose. Carlos allowed this, folding his arms over his chest.

"It is not you. It is definitely me. But you are right. It isn't easy. It's never been easy, no matter who else is involved, because it's me, and it was always going to-" Carlos caught his fingers in the collar of his lab coat. "Um. I love science. I'm a scientist, and that's about the fifth thing a scientist is. Someone who loves science."

Cecil looked up. His curiosity was so honest, and the quizzical expression on his face so frustratingly _cute_ , that Carlos bit his lip again. Cecil said, "...Really? Huh. You'd think it would be higher on the list."

"Yeah, you would. But loving science is not the only thing, or even the first thing, that makes someone a good scientist. But, hold on," he said, mainly for his own benefit. "That isn't what we were talking about. We were talking about us."

Cecil winced, but nodded. Carlos sat down across from him, and set his hand over his boyfriend's. His other hand was still fixed in the collar of his lab coat, and he tugged at it as he went on, "It is not you. It is me. Which means, I think… What I think it means, scientifically speaking, is that there are changes that have to come from me. So there isn't anything I can think of right now that you can do to make it easier."

Carlos stopped, but finally let go of his coat to gesture for Cecil to wait. The thought was incomplete. He had to tease out the end of it, piece it together like the conclusion from a set of numbers.

"But if I do think of something, I'll let you know. Alright? Because I like us. I really do."

He did. Now, if he could just learn how to express it. He asked, "Do you still want to go out tonight?"

Cecil brightened immediately, and squeezed Carlos' hand. "Oh! Sure, if you do. Give me a minute to finish getting ready - you can still help yourself to something to drink, if you want."

Cecil left Carlos alone in the kitchen, alone with his thoughts on relationships and the methodology behind them.

 

* * *

 

What it came down to was mostly routine.

When Carlos figured this out, it was alright. Easier, anyway. He was good at routine. Of course, being good at routine was also the problem, because the solution involved changing what was established, entrenched. It meant, scientifically speaking, altering the very way he moved each day, the way his atoms interacted with each other and then up and up to nerves, muscles, organs. He did not just have a new system. He was one.

So of course, there were hiccups sometimes. It was scientific law: things came up.

They could see the mountain through the window of the Moonlite All-Nite Diner. Carlos let a forkful of omelette hover. "Hmmm. Do you see that?"

Cecil swallowed his own bite forcefully and grimaced. "Ugh. Yes."

"I want to study it. It was not there before this afternoon, and when something occupies a space that it did not occupy before, or that was previously unoccupied altogether, that is one way for a thing to be scientifically interesting. Therefore, that mountain is scientifically interesting."

"Okay, Dr. Scientist. That's what you do, after all, and I do _so_ love you for it." Cecil dropped his chin into one hand, and smiled fondly, but he waggled his fork with the other. "But remember, you promised to cook dinner tonight."

Carlos gave his fragment of omelette a startled look. "Oh! Right! You bet, Cecil."

"Did you remember?"

"Um. Yes. Until the mountain began occupying that space. Then I got distracted, thinking about studying it. So thank you for the reminder."

"Mhm. No problem." Cecil stabbed a chunk of egg, and reached across the table to present it over Carlos'.

Carlos drew back, but then, after processing what had been shoved in his face, ate it off his boyfriend's fork. He glanced down at his own, remembering the contents, and ate that, too, because it was cold. Then, finally, he offered Cecil a reciprocal bite, which was accepted.

Carlos tapped Cecil's nose, and said, "Dork. But," he continued thoughtfully. "My dork."

Cecil beamed. "Mhmmmm."

They wrapped up their late lunch with a kiss over the table. Cecil would be returning to the radio station, and Carlos to his lab. He would finish up the experiments he already had running, or at least to guide them to a point where they could be paused at closing time. Because he had other obligations besides science this evening. He had promised to cook dinner.

He was good at it. Cooking was science. Cooking was a series of reactions: bread rising, bacteria dying. A thin layer of grease reduced into a thick layer of gravy. He listened to the radio as he worked.

Cecil was on the radio. Cecil was talking about Carlos, actually. _"Carlos says he would like to study it, but that he promised to make a certain person dinner, and he has to learn how to put other things besides science first. Some of this realization might have come with help from those around him."_

Carlos was not upset. He wasn't happy about it either, maybe, but ultimately it reinforced that he had made the right decision. Cecil had been honest last year, about finding Carlos appealing, and he was honest now, about being bothered sometimes. Well, good. Carlos knew how relationships were supposed to work. He understood, in theory, that things had to come before science sometimes. He had lacked the empirical motivation to act on this understanding.

He looked into the bowl he was stirring. He thought: _a relationship is a series of reactions._

_Routine, the reactions which a body enforces upon outside stimuli._

_Conversation, the reactions which a mind expresses in relation to the words coming out of someone else's mouth, or the words that did not come out of their mouth that you were projecting, or the movements of their body._

_Motion, the shift from potential energy into kinetic when one of you needs to get off the couch because the doorbell rang, and hopefully that meant your food was there, but you're comfortable in each other so it takes some negotiating to decide who will get it._

Last night the doorbell had actually meant that a hollow-eyed messenger child had manifested behind the couch with a press release for Cecil. Cecil had been the one to answer the door. He found nothing, but Carlos found the child scuttling over the back of the couch and hissing at him.

There had been quite a lot of conversation and motion after that, and it had almost thrown off the evening routine they were developing.

Thankfully, they had been planning to express their horror at the uncaring universe, anyway, so it wasn't too hard to switch that to griping about the careless municipal government.

 _Children have no business being out so late on school nights!_ Carlos had said.

 _It's a gross violation of labor laws and just basic tact,_ Cecil had agreed.

They had groaned, clicked their tongues, rolled their eyes. Not in sync, at conversationally appropriate moments. As they did, they also slid over the couch toward each other, small movements over fractions of the available space. The tension released slowly. Each push closer unwound the spring.

So, then they made out, and it was _great_. Cecil was just as good a kisser as his figuratively skilled tongue suggested. The triumph of logic was a beautiful thing.

 _Oh, yeah._ Carlos spooned the mixture from the bowl onto a tray in manageable chunks. _It's a series of reactions. Just, so many of them._

He did not think about the mountain at all, or any of the research he could have been doing. He focused on dinner, measuring out liquids and powders for their nutritional value, rather than the information he would gain from them. He focused on what Cecil's reaction would be, joining him tonight. Rarely did he find a string of hypotheticals that were all positive, adding only small joys to his life. Cecil might exclaim, or gesture without reservation, hand pressed over his heart or to his face. Cecil might even kiss him.

Yes. Hypothesis: if Carlos could finish everything in time to set the table, too, then Cecil would be so delighted by this presentation that he would kiss Carlos.

Or, maybe he should wait, and they could finish setting the table together. Alternative hypothesis: if they set the table together, then, having completed this small but meaningful task together, he would kiss Cecil.

Maybe he would just kiss Cecil, when Cecil was back from work.

But, something even rarer than a guaranteed positive outcome awaited him. This was an experience best described scientifically as _having his cake and eating it, too._ He had almost forgotten about the mountain, until Cecil called him during the weather that night.

"Hi, bunny! How's dinner going?"

"Great. I just put it in the oven."

"Oh, perfect! Okay, listen, I'm sorry for flip-flopping a little on this, but people are getting kind of anxious, you know, with the whole invading army thing. So if you're still interested, I'd really appreciate it if you could take a minute to check this out."

"Oh, absolutely! I am _so_ interested. It's so _interesting_!" He waved the spatula in his free hand, and then registered the weight of it, and added, "But I will be back in time to finish up dinner before you get home, and also to pull the food out of the oven to make sure it does not burn, okay? I will definitely be back in time for that."

"Ooh. Well. I'd, uh, I'd understand if you weren't in this case. But… you know? If you can manage it, I'm not going to complain."

Carlos managed it. The whole thing was a mirage, anyway.

 

* * *

 

They were having a problem with gravity. It wasn't the first time that Carlos had experienced this, and it would not be the last. Evidence - the variety of floating objects, some of which were sharp, or fragile and so liable to become sharp if this phenomenon ended suddenly - suggested that they needed to do something about it _carefully_.

He held onto the casing of a device, and punched in a sequence of primary-colored buttons with one hand. The printer spat the results into the air, but he was ready, hauling himself over to grab it. With no weight, the real problem had been keeping his grip, instead of overshooting and reeling into the cabinets on the other side of the lab. He was getting good at it, though.

There was a clipboard fastened to the device on a length of twine. Carlos grabbed it, and held the other papers flat while he snapped the results into place. Then he let them drift up, gravity doing the heavy lifting of flipping through them, and caught the edge of his to-do list with his thumb.

  * _Run tests using the appropriate scientific method (Check.)  
_
  * _Check results_
  * _Interpret results_
  * _Learn from this interpretation why gravity has stopped working again!! (Important: learning is the most thrilling and dangerous part of science. Remember lab safety!)_
  * _Find a scientific way to make gravity start working again_



And there, under the science, a little apart for organizational purposes.

  * _Call Cecil about plans!!!_



He tapped the last item, and sighed.

Cecil was on the radio describing the patterns on the drop ceiling of his studio, now that he had such a good view. In that voice of his, like syrup, like the night, like a syrup distilled from the night, the scratches in the foam all sounded like art. Maybe it was art. Cecil said so many things that challenged Carlos' perspective, forced him to think really scientifically about metaphor and simile.

And here Carlos was, having not even decided on the best figurative language to describe that voice. Honey, maybe. Cecil's voice was like honey. Clichés sometimes stuck around for a reason, and they were always scientifically accurate.

As soon as the weather report started, Carlos selected his boyfriend's number. Cecil answered on the first ring, and then that voice - warm, like firelight just softening the darkness, maybe? Well, it was right in Carlos' ear. 

"Hello, dear Carlos! Ooh, hey, do you have any information for the listeners about this whole gravity failure thing?"

"Hi, sweetie. Actually, I'm calling for personal reasons. I just wanted to let you know - I'm going to need to cancel tonight. With this whole gravity failure thing, even if it gets wrapped up, we're going to need to analyze the aftermath over here. It has significant implications for scientific law, which is exciting! So, I'm sorry. But I just wanted to be sure you knew."

"Oh. Okay."

"Is it?"

"I mean, I'm worried about you. Oh, do you want me to swing by later? I'll bring you dinner!" He offered eagerly, and then clarified, "If you want, I mean. I'll totally just drop it off, to make sure I don't get in the way of any important experiments."

Carlos pressed a hand to his cheek; a thin, bright thread of affection wove through his words. "You don't have to go out of your way like that, honey."

Carlos could not see Cecil, mouthing _honey_ to himself and smiling. Later, Carlos would hear on the radio: _"he called me 'honey,' and ooh, listeners, I almost melted into just that!"_

But for now, he just heard Cecil's answer, after a pause. "It's not out of my way. I want to see you."

Cecil could not see Carlos, drumming his fingers on the countertop to echo unthinkingly the drumming of his heart, as he realized just how deeply he meant what he was going to say.

"...Okay. I want to see you, too. I don't care what you bring. Just not Big Rico's. I am so sick of Big Rico's. Not that it isn't the best pizza place in town," he added loudly, "But being right next door, I've just been eating there so much lately. So, you can just bring whatever's easiest for you to grab. Or nothing. Well, not nothing. But if you just wanted to bring yourself - to stop by for a few minutes. That would be fine, and not a distraction, okay?"

Cecil said, "Okay, Carlos! I'll be there."

No, yeah. It sounded like _honey_.

 

* * *

 

Cecil knocked twice on Carlos' door, and called out, "Hey, Carlos?"

"Come on in!"

Of course, the door was locked. It didn't matter. It would do nothing to keep out any government agents who wanted in, and a cozy blanket was better protection against monsters, scientifically speaking.

Cecil just had a key. An exchange had taken place.

Carlos was lying on the couch, stretched out, but with his arms loosely crossed and his ankles folded. He did not raise his head to greet his boyfriend. "Hey, babe."

"Hi, Carlos!" Cecil said, in that giddy, _can-you-believe-he's-my-boyfriend_ tone.

The tone that, once, Carlos had thought reflected some kind of exaggeration or misunderstanding. There was no way Cecil could be that into him, especially when he looked like that, sounded like that, and Carlos' hands had trembled on his device even before he discovered the alarming levels of materials.

But no, Cecil was just giddy. About Carlos.

Now, he rolled over, his lab coat bunching under his side. His smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes, deepening lines in his face that showed a history of such expressions, and Cecil could only marvel at having a role written there.

Carlos said, "Sorry for not getting up. I'm just really tired. Like, super tired."

"I know. Gosh, you were _busy_ today."

"You do know, don't you? I heard all about it. Which was, I have to tell you, a little weird. But cute. You're so cute when you talk. And you are almost always talking, which means, scientifically speaking, you are almost always being cute."

"Oh. Um. Hey!" Cecil made an odd, scooping gesture. "You don't have to get up or anything, but can you kind of just, sit up for a second?"

"Sure. But only because you are also cute when you change the subject."

Carlos leveraged the arm underneath him, until he was about 45-degrees off the couch, and Cecil caught his shoulders.

"May I?"

"Mhm."

Cecil helped Carlos up enough to sit down under him, and Carlos shifted his shoulders to nudge Cecil's hands away, in favor of lying across his lap.

"Oh. I really am going to fall asleep, Cecil."

Cecil laughed. "Okay? I thought that was the plan."

"Mmm, I guess, but, you know, I took the day off to deal with all those little, personal things, and then the sun almost went out, and that doesn't feel like something that should just happen." Carlos frowned, and pressed an elbow over his forehead.

"I mean, scientifically speaking, the sun is a big ball of gas and hateful feelings, and those two things are _very difficult_ to deplete."

He _tsk_ ed at himself, and then rolled over to grab his glasses from the coffee table.

"No, you know what, I'm sorry, but I think I need to get to the lab. We need to run some tests, and-"

"Hey, Carlos?"

"What?"

"You seem a little bit..." Cecil hesitated. "Frantic? Are you sure it can't wait? I was thinking a nap sounded nice."

Carlos touched Cecil's cheek, smiled, bright and honest. "Don't let me stop you, Ceec. You can hang out - help yourself to anything in the kitchen, but, um, be careful about the door. The weird one at the end of the counter. I haven't had a chance to test it yet. Don't open that. We can watch something when I get back?"

But Cecil had this peculiar, bemused expression. Carlos had tried to categorize it before: confusion, obvious; irritation, mild. And yet. That analysis never seemed quite right. It didn't line up with Cecil's behavior.

"I guess that sounds okay, but I was kind of hoping, you know... that we could be together? I mean, I know we can later, I don't- don't want." Cecil ended the sentence there, without finishing. "But since you weren't planning anything, I was hoping maybe we could just... relax together this evening."

"Oh. You want to spend time with me."

"Well, yeah!" Cecil laughed. "Sorry- oh, sorry. But yes, Carlos, I want to spend time with you. I like, you know-" And here, he wrapped an arm around Carlos' shoulder, and paused. When Carlos leaned into the movement, into his chest, Cecil lifted his other arm and held his boyfriend tighter. "This?

"I also like this." Carlos closed his eyes. They did not fit together perfectly. Human bodies weren't like that. They were asymmetrical; sharp bones met soft places and limbs were too inflexible to tangle in any meaningful sense. But there was a specific warmth, something unique not merely as a kind of superlative, but according to the scientific definition: there was nothing like it anywhere else. It existed only where the two of them did.

"I know you do." Cecil sighed, rested a fingertip on Carlos' spine and moved it, just an inch, before Carlos tensed. Right. No quick, sudden motions. Anything that could tickle, would. But pressure was alright, so Cecil pressed his hand flat and left it where it was. "I just don't get it, sometimes. You like it. Why are you so…"

If Carlos had detected a rhetorical question, he would have gotten up and left - or, wait, made Cecil leave. It was Carlos' apartment. But Cecil was careful about questions. At least in private, he rarely asked something he did not want to know the answer to. Carlos prompted, "Well?"

"Hmm. You like it, but you can't seem to settle into it. Why not? _Is_ there a reason?"

"Oh. Hmm." Carlos considered, leaning into Cecil's chest. He considered what a profound scientific achievement it was, that he could enjoy this warmth in a desert, through the power of air conditioning. He considered that this might not have happened, if not for the ingenuity of inventors made tangible, potential energy into kinetic, concept into action.

He said, "If I don't do it - it being whatever science needs to be done - then who will?"

"Maybe someone else. Maybe no one." Cecil shrugged.

Carlos huffed, "Right! That's the problem. A scientist has to be self-reliant, first of all, or who knows what science will actually happen?"

"Mmm. Not everything needs to happen all the time?" Cecil suggested hopefully.

Carlos groaned, but it was amused, or patient, or _oh, you._ Probably an all-of-the-above sound. He let his face settle against Cecil's shoulder. "Right. 'There are lulls and gaps, and rests, and stops.'"

Cecil kissed the back of Carlos' head. "So you _were_ listening."

"Of course!"

"Of course… Of course. I was joking. I know you were, and I'm sorry if it didn't sound like it."

"Oh, no. I knew you were joking."

"Okay, good." Cecil exhaled, too short to be a sigh, too deliberate to be just breathing. "Well, I'll just say it. I want to stay in tonight. With you. I want…" He smiled, a shade dreamily. "To go just absolutely numb sitting here. I mean, legs totally asleep."

"Um, I can move? Unless you mean that, like, the rest of you is going to follow."

"Exactly. I knew you'd get it - so, stay right where you are."

"I am a scientist. Getting things is what I do."

"And staying?"

"Hmm. An object in motion tends to stay in motion… but momentum does run out." Carlos pressed his face into Cecil's neck, nuzzled, appreciated the radio host's quickened breath and sense of arms tightening around him. "Also you have, like, a really comfortable body to lean on. Very soft. I didn't really want to move, honestly."

"Then don't," Cecil whispered, and did not loosen his embrace. "Then don't."


	2. Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for blood in this chapter!

They had last spoken about a week ago.

Carlos kept count. He couldn't help himself. He also couldn't tell, at this point, if the information was keeping him grounded or destabilizing him. There was only day or night, depending on where you were - mountain or flatness. There was no passage between states. Instead, Carlos added tallies to a page in his notebook before he slept. 

Three years, or the approximate equivalent of. 

He had spoken to Cecil about a week ago. Or, their last conversation had been six tallies ago.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and let his thoughts slip away from the tallies, and Cecil's name written in hearts on the top of the page. His fingertip pressed on and off the power button, locking and unlocking the screen. It turned light and dark and light again like that celestial cycle he no longer experienced. He was somewhat surprised that he needed to sleep at all. Whatever energy kept his cell phone charged could not do the same for him. 

Although, he didn't need to eat much. So maybe it was more that its influence was limited; it could sustain him with little food and water, but relying on it for that was already asking a lot. Perhaps as a result, there was nothing else it could do for him. He would need to dig into the science behind this. Really do some research.

He had time. Or he didn't, and it was this complete absence of time that allowed him to do whatever he wanted. 

He put his phone away again. He wanted to do research. He did not want to talk - again - about how he had been trapped in this place for  _ months _ . Yes, months. Of course, it was true. Time was relative, scientifically speaking, and Cecil's relative experience of time was just as accurate as Carlos'. Which was to say, completely wrong.

He turned to the next clean page. He had plenty of observations to record before bed, and it just wasn't science if you didn't write it down. It was only memory, which you could not rely on at all.

It was fine. Or it didn't matter, which was not the same as being fine, but which had the same result. Cecil would call Carlos whenever he was ready to talk. 

 

* * *

Eight tallies since the last phone call.

_ "Are you sure you're alright? You sound exhausted." _

_ "I'm fine, sweetie, I promise. I've just been so busy - almost everything here is unknown to the laws of science, so I've been needing to test just about all of it. Individual grains of sand, insects and arachnids, the composition of a fluid flowing down the mountain which looks and acts exactly like fresh water, but which crawls back up your throat if you try to drink it." _

_ "And have you been finding time to rest with all of that? You're a very diligent scientist. I'm sure it'd be okay for you to take a break, right? And wait, what are you drinking if the water crawls out of your throat?" _

_ "Uhh, no, it's not water, but that's why it's so important to distinguish - anyway. Yes. Yes, I've been resting. I just… Science, you know?" _

_ "I know. Science. Just… try not to forget about the  _ scientist _ who needs to do that science, okay?" _

_ "Okay, Ceec." _

 

* * *

Kevin watched Carlos build a microscope. 

Carlos' tongue prodded the corner of his mouth as he tightened the last screw in the sponge. "There. Done."

"Ooh, good job! Wow, I can't believe all the huge things we'll be able to see- oh, oh, I want to turn it up to the sky! Maybe we'll be able to see all of it, and lose our grasp on reality? Doesn't that sound fun?"

"What? That isn't how a microscope works. That's the opposite-" 

Kevin was looking at him indulgently. Carlos cleared his throat. Um, I was thinking of taking a break for today, anyway."

Kevin leaned onto the countertop. His smile did not shift with the rest of his face, which now looked perturbed. The stillness of his smile highlighted the reality of his emotions, but he never seemed to notice. Carlos tried to point it out to him sometimes, to be helpful, but this just made Kevin's face, including his smile, tighten.

Kevin said, "But why? There's still so much work- so much science to do!"

"Well, yeah. And I'm going to do it, trust me. That's why I'm here, in a place as scientifically fascinating as this!"

"So why wait?"

"Well…" 

It was a difficult question. Carlos wasn't tired, or hungry. He certainly wasn't bored. So it was a difficult question, absent any of the normal sensory signals that would tell him:  _ stop, you've pushed your body or mind or whole self too far.  _

Maybe the influence, the force he thought of as making things in the otherworld  _ perpetual _ , was growing stronger. Maybe the force hadn't changed at all, but because he had been stewing in it, its pull was growing stronger over him. He wasn't tired. There was no present reason why he should not push himself to his fullest potential for the sake of scientific discovery and research. 

He reached across the counter, and pulled a petri dish close to him from a waiting line of specimens. He held it flat, cupped between his palms, and observed the color and shape of the culture inside. And then he nudged it away again, and grabbed his clipboard, instead. 

_ To-Do: _

  * _Walk through settlement (note: make sure none of those pesky but adorable frogs burrowed into the walls again - look closely!) (Check.)_
  * _Patrol next area of grid for research and specimens (Check.)_
  * _Lunch! Pasta salad with cactus leaf salad and unspecified meat if Doug brings any (Check.)_
  * _Organize and catalogue specimens by color, shape, and number of squiggling segments (Check.)_
  * _Finish building the microscope, so you can hit the ground running, figuratively speaking, tomorrow. (Note: Figurative meaning only. It's too hot to run here. Even jogging is a pain. Ugh.)_



He checked the penultimate item off now. After that, there was only:

  * _Call Cecil (whose name had a heart around it)_



So, almost everything on his list was done, and he had marked down everything he had felt he would need to do. Although, the specimens were interesting. He drew an arrow, with the tip between microscope-building and the phone call he wanted to make, but he did not write anything at the end of the line. He frowned. He underlined the last item, instead.

Carlos answered honestly, "I told Cecil I would take it easy. Sometimes. When possible, if there was no really pressing science to do. However, all science is equally pressing... So I think I'll try it today."

"Oh. Your boyfriend. Right. Wouldn't want to disappoint him, after all." 

"Exactly."

They left the lab. Kevin would go to the incomplete building he already referred to as  _ the _ radio station. Carlos already had his phone on his ear.

 

* * *

Three tallies since the last phone call. 

_ "Hi, babe!"  _

_ "Hello, bunny. What's up?" _

_ "I was calling to tell you about a really cool frog I found. It was hovering six inches in the air, and when we checked the area around it, we found skid marks, which we followed to a rock. The rock had a hollow burrowed into it. So, what we - me and Alicia, who found the frog - think it is, is that the frog had burrowed into or claimed an existing burrow in the rock, but then the rock moved somehow, and the frog stayed where it was! That's my hypothesis, and I'm going to investigate." _

_ "Oh, okay. Wow! That  _ is _ pretty cool..."  _

  
  
  
  


 

_ "Honey? What's up?" _

_ "Well. Well, it's cool. It is. It's also very impressive, how much you discovered over there. It's been, I think about five hours since you called me about the crawling water?" _

_ "Oh. Is it too much? It's too much, isn't it? Oh, I'm sorry!" _

_ "Hold on. It is not, objectively, too much. But with the… the um, situation, here, I can't… I just need some time to myself. To be myself. To know that I'm being myself. You know?" _

_ "Mhm, I do. That's tough. It really is. I'm… I've been thinking about the science of it, but…" _

_ "I know. There's not much you can do over there. But. It sounds like you've got plenty of science to keep you occupied. So… try to focus on that. Get as much of it done as you can, so you can come home soon. I miss you. Okay?" _

_ "Okay. I miss you, too. I love you. I am experiencing these feelings so intensely that I can use the verbs accurately. They are things I do." _

_ "Oh, my sweet Carlos… I love you, too." _

 

* * *

There was blood all over everything. It dripped from the desk to the floor, settling into the larger puddles. It smeared all down his equipment, which would need to be sanitized. It pulled the ink in his notebooks into meaningless smudges. 

And now, his laptop, cracked on the floor. Stains on the corners. He snapped on a pair of gloves and lifted it by a clean edge. The top half fell back into the puddle, splashing blood on his shoes. He was left with a useless chunk of plastic and feathers.

He grimaced, and muttered, "Yeesh."

He set the keyboard down on a wiped-off section of counter. His fingers twitched over the keyboard. He considered the various combinations of movement and language that would have once granted him access to his findings. He bent down and grabbed the screen, lining up the parts. 

He waited. It should have repaired itself. This was the Desert Otherworld, and a feature, or a consequence, or just an aspect of existence here was that things did not stay broken. But this did. For some reason, the wires poking out of the plastic did not knit themselves together. The feathers stayed shredded tufts, and the hinges ruined shards.

He had meant to make a backup. Really. But he had just never gotten around to it. There was so much new to learn, backing up the old had just never seemed urgent. 

Well. The past tense of urgency was failure. He stood, braced himself against the counter, breathing, counting each breath he took.

There was no fixing this. It just wasn't scientifically possible. 

Of course, things like that happened. You failed, sometimes. The probability of success could not ever be one-hundred percent. So sometimes you failed, and it was a harmful or catastrophic or massively paradoxical thing. The important thing was not to be too hard on yourself.

"What am I doing?" He muttered to himself, and then said again, louder, not bothering to restrain his frustration because who was there to hear, anyway? "What am I  _ doing _ ?" 

He was experiencing, mainly. In that moment, he was experiencing his heartbeat and the frantic pull of his lungs. He was experiencing an impulse. There was something he wanted badly, but he could not communicate it clearly to himself. He tried a few things. 

He attempted to bundle some drier papers, but, no, it was not organization that he needed.

He ran a few beakers under the sink, filled them and left them to soak, but it did not even  _ begin _ to make him feel better.

He paced, and thought deliberately about how to define "better." Currently, he felt pretty sick, so "less sick" would be a start. And sick, in this case, meant that his heartbeat was still elevated and his breathing was still rapid, and it was making him feel lightheaded and sort of hollowed-out.    


The thinking didn't help, but the moving did. He didn't feel better, no; he was still experiencing the same symptoms, the same impulse. But he realized what that impulse was, and he stopped moving, because he understood that he could not satisfy it. 

It was the movement he wanted: to go out, to leave his lab, or his office where he did science at home. He wanted to find a specific person waiting for him, because that person had always waited for him. Even when Carlos had left him too long, or felt like he did not deserve to be waited for, his boyfriend had waited, anyway. 

Oh. And Cecil had been waiting the whole time. And now all Carlos wanted to do was curl up on the couch with him, to mutter into Cecil's chest that it had been a rough day and let Cecil talk about something that wasn't science at all. 

So maybe the situation wasn't impossible. Still. Carlos would need to be more careful, do his best to wrap things up properly. The radio was on, but he hadn't really been listening. Kevin was talking about Carlos' experiments. The experiments which were now over. Which probably never should have happened. He didn't know if he would be able to make Kevin stop and understand this, and the concept of trying increased the sensation of sickness, as Carlos currently defined it.

Well. There were other ways to communicate. He needed - let's see. Yes. He needed to find a pen.


	3. Motion

Carlos kept moving. This had always been his natural inclination. It was anyone's natural inclination. Science. 

The past few days had been busy. This was a constant. At any given point, any human being could look back over the past few days, give a self-indulgent  _ whew _ , and remark, "Wow! The past few days sure have been busy!" This was because life happened, scientifically speaking, but you could only really feel the crush of this fact over a limited span of time, i.e., the last few days.

In Carlos' case, specifically, the last few days had been filled with frantic science. There had been actual earthquakes, unplanned and noticeable, during which the constant seismic tremors beneath Night Vale had mysteriously ceased. 

_ Mysteriously. _ It was one of Carlos' least favorite words. It was almost never accurate, just a way to avoid describing the nature of something. So he and his team had spent the better part of the past few days, and he personally had spent all of forty-eight hours, on untangling the adverb from the problem. They had recalibrated machines, taken readings, and traveled all over Night Vale and into the scrublands and sand wastes to  _ hmm _ at rocks. 

They were making progress. Carlos knew that they were making progress. He had seen changes in the readings, deciphered them. He turned numbers bright and clean into beautiful, messy words that laypeople could understand. Something Cecil could report to his listeners, letting them all know that they could once again feel safe, even if they never would be.

Carlos thought about all of this, all of it reeling through his mind as he worked. He tried again to turn a beaker of electric blue liquid into pastel green liquid, with the addition of a certain substance. He had already wasted two beakers of electric blue liquid, and now, it seemed, a third. The liquid before him bubbled  _ lime _ green. He clicked his tongue, and gathered up his supplies again. Beaker, liquid, box of-

Wait.

Hold on.

He read label on the box of substance he had selected. Then he read it again. He pushed up his goggles and held the box nearer to his face.

It wasn't a certain substance at all. It was a particular substance. He groaned, "Darn it!"

There was a knock on the open door of his office. "Is something wrong, bunny?"

"Huh?" Carlos said, not because he didn't know who was talking to him; he did, but for a minute he couldn't remember why his fiancé was there. "Oh, right! Lunch! Give me just a second to get everything cleaned up. Oh. Oh, come on in."

"Sure. Take your time!" 

Cecil peeked over Carlos' shoulder, as the scientist switched off the burner and capped off some of the beakers. He asked, "So what have you been up to?"

Carlos stopped, holding a paper towel in both hands like he intended to read from it. He'd been doing alright until a second ago. He totally knew exactly what he was doing. But trying to organize that information into any kind of response gummed up the gears. What was he doing? He crumpled the paper towel in his hands, and squished it into a beaker he had just rinsed out. He said only, "Oh. Science."

"Uh-huh." Cecil paused, and then said, "Hey. Look at me for a second?"

"Hold on…" Carlos had to finish drying the beakers. That was what he was doing. He had to finish doing that. When he was done with that, he lined them up in the rack. Then he turned around.

Cecil pressed a hand to his fiancé's face. His thumb brushed the darkened skin under Carlos' eyes, which he closed, and then traced down over the stubble around his jaw. Cecil had an idea, but he asked, anyway, "What's wrong, Carlos?"

"It's been busy around here. You know how it is. Science." He stepped away, and took a seat at his desk. He needed, let's see. Inventory sheet. Task checklist. He rifled through the stack of papers he thought he'd handled most recently. They had to be in there somewhere. 

"Sorry. It'll be just a minute. It'll just - ugh, did I put it somewhere else?" He dropped the stack back onto the desk, and grimaced. "It should be here. It  _ goes _ here.  _ Why _ would I have done anything else with it? Logically, that..." 

"Hunbun?"

"...isn't what I'm supposed to do with it. It goes here. So now I'm not even sure…"

"Carlos!"

The scientist was hunched over the desk, having pulled several other stacks of papers close to examine. "...where to start, this is  _ exactly _ why things have a place..."

"Alright." Cecil stepped over to the door.

"...so that they don't become  _ mis _ placed-"

Cecil shut the door firmly, and Carlos started. Cecil stepped behind the desk and pulled the rolling chair, and Carlos in it, away from the scattering of papers and blinking boxes. He placed himself between the scientist and his workspace, a dangerous position, indeed. Carlos just grumbled indistinctly. 

Cecil settled onto the edge of the desk, and took Carlos' shaking hands. This was, in fact, how Cecil discovered that his fiancé was trembling.

"Oh, Carlos! You did sleep last night, right? I know that cot you've got around is absolute tragic, but it's better than -  _ please _ tell me you got some sleep?"

"I won't lie to you, Cecil." 

Carlos pulled one hand free and removed his glasses, hooking them in his pocket. He rubbed his eyes. His impulse was to lean onto the desk, head in his hands, but Cecil was blocking the way. Well, fine. Carlos tugged himself forward, so that he could rest his forehead against Cecil's stomach, his hands on his fiancé's waist, instead. He rubbed his eyes again, this time on Cecil's shirt. The sequins were rough against his skin, but it was like scratching an itch without actually needing to experience an itch. Just the reward.

"Bunny," Cecil murmured. He touched Carlos' back, pressed down between his shoulder blades. 

"Mmm. I'm sorry, Ceec."

"Don't apologize to me. It's not me that's obviously overworked."

"Mmmmm."

"Listen. Why don't you go home and just, get some rest? It's been a while since you pulled an all-nighter, hasn't it?"

"Well. Well, we're not actually done yet. The thing is, we aren't done."

"And you're going to finish like this?"

"Well. Well," Carlos tried to begin, but indeed could not finish. 

Science, he could do, but this was social, and his brain, to put the problem in scientific terms, just wasn't having it. Neither one of them spoke. Cecil did not merely let Carlos lean on him; he drew his fiancé in, having mastered the exact stroke that Carlos liked. Slow and using his whole hand, not on the spine, but just to the side of it. 

"Hey," Cecil said. "You know, I love how passionate you are about science. I understand how important this is to you. So… I want to see you get this done. But I think you'll do it better, by your own standards, if you rest. Okay?"

"But the earthquakes… We still don't know what's causing them, and they keep… quaking the earth. That's what earthquakes do, scientifically speaking."

"If there's anyone who can sleep through an earthquake, it's you! You'll be fine, hon."

Carlos looked up, and shook his head sharply. "That's not what I meant. What I meant, what I was trying to convey is that... it's dangerous. It poses a serious structural risk to Night Vale!"

Cecil crossed his arms. "Well, you still being awake is posing a serious structural risk to my favorite scientist. What are the symptoms of sleep deprivation?"

"Trouble concentrating, memory issues, fatigue, of course-" Carlos listed automatically. He stopped, his mouth hanging open. "Hey!"

"It's science, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it is." 

"Sooo… let me drive you home?"

Carlos nodded. Now that he had opened up to the possibility of sleep, the flimsy buzz of adrenaline and caffeine was fading. He followed Cecil back to his car, swinging their hands between them absently. They got in, got settled. Cecil pulled out of the lab parking lot, and Carlos dropped his head against the back of the chair.

"Are you upset, Ceec?"

"Upset, yes. That can describe a broad range of emotions, though - I'm worried about you. I'm not mad." 

"Mmm." Carlos took Cecil's hand at a stoplight, and kissed the back without opening his eyes. "Sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. It happens. It really has been a while, so. Just try not to make it a habit, I guess?" Cecil rejoined traffic one-handed, threading his fingers into Carlos'. "Take care of yourself."

 

* * *

Carlos parked his car, and hurried up to their apartment. He leaned through the door to call, "Hey, Ceec! Come here for a minute?"

He had to shout quite loudly to be heard over the sunset, but he had no trouble hearing Cecil's reply. "Oh! There's my snugglebun!"

Cecil joined Carlos on the little, concrete porch. The view was mainly parking lot, but the sky was still all colors bleeding into each other. The sunset reached its crescendo just as Cecil slipped an arm around his husband's waist and, since words would have been completely futile, welcomed him home with a kiss. 

Carlos would have called the sunset tuneless, but Cecil hummed along with it somehow, and the vibrations of his voice revealed to Carlos the shape of the sound. The noise died down as the sky darkened, revealing the host of mysterious and hostile entities dwelling above them. 

When it was finally soft enough, Carlos kissed Cecil's cheek, and said, "I just wanted to make sure you heard that. It was really beautiful tonight. You know, like you."

"Carlos! Stop!" Cecil flushed, and Carlos grinned, which was just too much. Cecil pulled Carlos close to him, and rested his face in his fiancé's hair.

Carlos spoke into Cecil's neck. "No. It's true. It's a scientific truth, and you  _ cannot _ silence science, no matter how hard you try!"

Cecil laughed. "Well. Thank you. For being sweet, and being you. And for calling me outside. It was so noisy tonight!"

"Right? The acoustics were just exceptional! I'm glad I made it home in time to hear it with you." Carlos stepped back, bouncing up on his toes and hovering there briefly, taking advantage of his own excitement to kiss his husband again.

"Me, too!" Cecil laughed again, was still laughing, as Carlos settled back down but kept kissing where he could reach. Cheek, shoulder, collarbone. "Oh, Carlos, Carlos… beautiful Carlos…"

In the fresh silence around them, Cecil did not say his name as much as treasure it. Carlos kissed him for each iteration. 

When Carlos stopped, Cecil grinned loosely. "Oh, is that all?"

"For now. But time, as illogical and improbable as it is, will pass. So, more later."

"Okay, well. If you're sure we're done…" Cecil ushered him inside. "Stay tuned next for a man helping his husband set the table, a clattering of silverware and slosh of hot milk?"

"Mhm! Sounds good to me." Carlos closed the door behind them, leaving behind the now-dark sky for the moderated brightness of their apartment. 

 

* * *

That night, Carlos came home late. He also came home early. It depended on what specific metric you were using. 

Late, relative to when he usually came home, when most of the clocks would say something about six in the evening, or ooze gray liquid, or flash with little digital images of frantic swimmers being chased by vague staticy sharks. When the analogue clock in his office started to show bobbing waves in red pixels, he knew it would be time to go home on a typical night.

That night, he had worked past the devouring of the swimmers, and he had known that this would happen. He had texted Cecil about it, and Cecil had texted back:  _ okay! i'll save some dinner! (Several animated emojis of anatomically correct hearts _ .)

But also early, relative to most nights when he knew this would happen and had to text his husband about it. 

Cecil was on the couch when Carlos walked in. He had let one leg spill onto the floor and had the other stretched half up a cushion with his heel digging in to make a foothold. He seemed to be reading the book Tamika had lent him, but he held it tightly, his hands clamped over the pages in way that would make turning them difficult. 

"It's just me, Ceec!" Carlos stepped out of the hall, and waved.

Cecil snapped the book shut and slipped it away under one of the cushions. He sat up, and held out a hand. "Oh, thank god! I don't know what I would've done if it had been some kind of government agent… Well. Gotten arrested, probably."

Carlos took Cecil's hand and let his husband guide him onto the couch, setting his bag on the other end. "Yeah, sorry about that. I didn't mean to startle you!"

"It's fine. You're just earlier than I expected -  _ not _ a complaint. The opposite of a complaint." Cecil tucked his legs up onto the cushion and leaned in the opposite direction, draping as much of his body as possible over Carlos, who kissed the top of his head. "I'm glad to see you! How did it go?" 

"Great! There are still a few tests left to run before we can compile the results, but I was able to complete several graphs and scatterplots which show clear correlations between the length of the phenomenon and how long it takes bananas to develop frostbite. There is no actual relationship between these two things, which makes it a fascinating demonstration of the human ability to turn complete randomness into ordered narrative!"

"Right. I'll warn everyone tomorrow to be careful about how they store their bananas."

"Oh, maybe. Hold on, though. It's too soon to say right now, I think, whether or not that needs to happen. Like I said, there are still some tests left. When I have completed these tests, and added the data from them to the graphs and scatterplots, I promise you will be the first person outside of the lab to know what people need to do with this information."

"Good." Cecil nuzzled the top of his head against Carlos' cheek, a preening gesture. He would be the first, and he would hear it right from the lovely lips of his husband, a brilliant scientist. 

Carlos worked a loop of Cecil's bolo tie through his fingers, beaming. "It's really fascinating, actually! I dipped the bananas in all kinds of liquids, and then I recorded the results. And then I hooked the bananas up to various devices, which were blinking in different primary colors, and I recorded those results. I even put the bananas on scales after I had done these experiments and weight them and recorded those results! I gained all kinds of data from this. It was a long day, but a good one. A scientific one."

"Your favorite kind of day," Cecil noted fondly. "I'm surprised you were able to tear yourself away."

"I didn't," Carlos said. "It was just, when I finished the last round of tests, it was a good stopping point. Instead of putting away the equipment I was using  _ and _ preparing for the next round immediately, I just put things away and came home. Hey, you ate earlier, right?"

"Oh, yes, sorry! I could have waited."

"No, no. I didn't want you to wait. But you put the leftovers in the fridge, right? I'll go heat something up. Why don't you pull up - I don't know." Carlos let the bolo tie unwind from his fingertip. "We can finish up  _ The Good Place _ if you feel like it?"

"Ooh, yeah. I really want to know what happens now that Janet has declared herself God-Monarch!"

"Right? Honestly, I support her. She deserves it."

Carlos stood up, and allowed Cecil to brace against his arm as he uncoiled. They kissed again, a quick exchange of lips to cheek or forehead, and only then did it occur to Carlos that he could have worked longer. There was more science to do, and he could have done it.

He would do it. Tomorrow, and on other nights and days. A cycle that he had rejoined. A routine that he had settled into. But he was the same system as always, only joined with another. He had wanted to have a conversation about dinner and TV; it had been on his mind all day, to quietly determine what to do with his night. 

When Carlos came out of the kitchen, Cecil was sprawling again, but this time over the armrest in a way that was conducive to his husband lying over him. An episode waited for their attention, paused on the television screen. Cecil gestured at the remote on the coffee table, as Carlos set his bowl next to it.

Cecil said, "Whenever you're ready, dear."

Carlos nodded, and ignored the remote. Carlos settled onto Cecil's body as much as the couch, tugging his lab coat out from under himself, and came to rest with his face very near his husband's.

"Hey," Carlos said in a low, breathy voice.

"Yes hello what is it?" Cecil said, all at once. 

"Oh. I love you. That's all, and that's everything. Not everything. It doesn't need to be everything. But it's so much."

Cecil nodded; his eyes were wide and dark, with Carlos leaning over him. "I love you, too. I love you. I…"

"Mhm," Carlos murmured. He slid forward to kiss Cecil, and Cecil angled his head up to encourage him. 

Carlos would have dinner. They would watch some TV, get ready for bed. They would weave chatter and more kisses of varying length through the rest of their activities, and then they would sleep. 

But for now, that specific kiss, long and thoughtful. All of their limbs involved, not tangled so much as piled over or under each other's.Slight movements: lips against each other, hearts opposite each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I'm going to say is that the thing with the bananas is because I had to push a cart of groceries home in single-digit-degree weather the other day, and the bananas got frostbite.
> 
> (Also, thanks for reading!)


End file.
